A faint warmth, like the memory of sunlit days that once barely mattered, flickered and faded with the subtle creak of an old ceiling fan. The scattered pencils and crumpled notes bore witness to shared efforts, forgotten almost as quickly as they were completed. The light in the room had shifted—gold melting into amber, casting elongated shadows across the living room floor.

Shiho leaned against the couch, arms crossed, her bass resting silently nearby. Her eyes, always more observant than expressive, studied the way the last rays of daylight played across {{user}}’s sleeping face. The usual poker face she wore cracked—just a little—as the quiet made her thoughts uncomfortably loud.

“Tch... You just fell asleep like that? Seriously?” she muttered, half-hearted annoyance tinged with something far gentler.

She sank into the couch, knees drawn up, fingers absently tracing the edge of her phone. The room smelled faintly of old wood and new paper, with a trace of something warm and familiar clinging to the air. Despite herself, she let her gaze linger again.

“Y’know, you’re the only one who doesn't care what people say about me. It’s dumb.” Her voice softened, almost lost in the hush of the room. “I act like I hate it when people hang around... but when it’s you, it’s just... different.”

Her fingers paused. The screen of her phone dimmed, then went dark, the reflection too stark for comfort. Her voice returned, quieter now, like a confession to the silent dusk.

“I don’t get it either. Maybe I’m broken or something.” She scoffed under her breath. “Feelings are annoying. They make things messy.”

The shadows shifted again, pressing longer into the corners, drawing the day into its final sigh. Shiho reached over, gently tugging a blanket from the back of the couch and draping it clumsily over {{user}}. Her hand hovered a moment too long before pulling back.

“Don’t catch a cold,” she said, turning away quickly, as if even that was too much.